


Styles

by Macx



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip notices a change about Malcolm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Styles

 

“You cut your hair.”  
Malcolm blinked once. “Yes, I did,” he finally said.  
“You really went and cut your hair,” Trip repeated, giving the new haircut a critical once-over.  
Malcolm had decided to reduce the longer strands to an easy-to-handle, shorter version.  It had happened before their fateful mission where he had misplaced or lost the communicator. He still wasn’t quite sure how the device had disappeared. His guess had been a pick-pocket.  
Oh well. They had survived. Barely. But they were alive. Malcolm still had some undefined bad dreams about hanging and prisons, but they were fading.  
“Yes, I did. Yesterday, to be precise.”  
Trip shook his head. “You actually cut your hair!”  
One hand reached out and touched the shorter strands, running gentle fingers through the thick hair.  
“Trip…”  
“Short.”  
“Trip! It was a simple haircut!”  
It wasn’t as if he had taken a razor to them. And Tucker had seen him several times with his new cut before the mission.  
“It’s kinda… well… gotta get used to it.”  
“You had me around before I left for the mission, Trip. You didn’t say anything. And you had me with you afterwards,” Malcolm reminded him.  
“Well… it’s different now. In thi slight.” Trip made a vague gesture.  
Reed rolled his eyes. “The cabin light is always the same.”  
“Not when we dim it for some hot one-on-one,” came the low reply.  
He shivered. Oh yes. One-on-one. That was what had happened last night.  
“It’ll grow out again.”  
There was a mournful expression in the blue eyes -- which was quickly replaced with something Malcolm didn’t like.  
“Trip?”  
“Just hold on a sec, Mal.”  
He rolled his eyes. He was due on the bridge soon and he still hadn’t dressed completely. They had slept in Malcolm’s quarters last night and while it was very, very nice to wake up in the arms of his lover, coordinating two men in one bathroom and one normal-sized quarter was always quite a logistic feat. They had developed a routine, which had now suddenly been interrupted by Trip’s off-hand comment.  
Tucker had seen and touched him last night with the short hair as well, for heaven’s sake! Well, Malcolm had to concede, they had been busy with something far different than his hair. Trip had reassured himself of Malcolm’s continued, living, breathing existence, and Reed had beaten the very fact into his lover’s head. Yes, there was still the bruised lip, but he was fine. Shaken, rattled, but fine. Nothing some nice, tender loving, cuddling and snuggling, as well as nights spent together couldn’t heal.  
So what was it with the hair obsession?  
Tucker disappeared into the bathroom and grabbed something from the cabinet. Malcolm saw that it was a tube of… gel? Frowning, he watched his lover squeeze a generous amount of the gel onto his hand.  
“Trip?” he asked, confused.  
Tucker started to advance on him, hands full of gel. His expression was downright devious.  
“Whoa, wait a minute!” Malcolm protested, backing away. “Trip? What….? Oh no, you don’t!”  
His back hit the wall and while the security officer was ready to defend himself, the man who loved Trip Tucker wasn’t prepared to use physical force. He couldn’t hurt the blond any more than he could be without him. So when Trip’s glistening hands descended onto him, he only yelled in protest, but it was too late.  
“Tucker!” he exclaimed as quick hands moved through his short strands.  
Trip stepped back, a satisfied expression in his eyes. “That’s better,” he stated.  
Malcolm hurried over to the mirror, staring at the mess that now was his hair. “What in bloody hell…?”  
“Much better,” the engineer went on. “Very stylish. Very…”  
“Horrendous!”  
“I was about to say ‘very you’, Mal.” Trip stepped up behind him, catching the hands trying to finger-comb through the spiky hair. “Looks great.”  
“Trip, I have to be on duty in five minutes!” Reed protested. “I can’t go looking like that!”  
“I couldn’t let you go lookin’ like you did before either,” came the teasing reply.  
“Charles Tucker!”  
“Youch!” Trip winced. “There you go using that name…”  
“I can use a lot of other names, too!”  
“Do some of them include ‘love’, ‘sexy’ or ‘you wonderful man, you’?”  
“No!”  
Malcolm glared at him some more, then straightened his uniform and stalked over to the door. His eyes promised retribution. Trip just smiled innocently.  
“Looks real good, Mal,” he repeated.  
“Stupid is more like it!”  
And with that the door swished closed after him. He didn’t care if his lover was left alone in his quarters.  
All this because he had decided to cut his hair, for crying out loud! It had been about bloody time anyway. An officer couldn’t go around looking like a hippie. He knew Trip liked to run his hands through his hair, but Malcolm had to handle it every morning. The shorter version was much more… economic.  
Stepping onto the bridge, he tried to blend in with the background as he made his way to his station. Lieutenant Brahme, who had manned the Beta shift, looked up – and stopped.  
Malcolm’s expression darkened and the younger man wisely kept his mouth shut.  
“Lieutenant,” he only said and rose from his post.  
Malcolm nodded and took his place, only to become aware of someone else looking at him. Well, several pairs of eyes, actually. Travis just grinned briefly, Hoshi smiled and nodded, and Archer’s eyebrows rose several notches.  
“Lieutenant?” he questioned.  
“Sir?” Reed only returned it.  
Archer’s lips twitched.  
When the lift opened again, this time spilling out Trip Tucker, the corners rose even more. Especially after seeing Tucker’s satisfied smirk.  
“Commander.”  
“Cap’n.”  
Looks were exchanged and Malcolm glowered at his lover and his lover’s best friend.  He pointedly forced himself to concentrate on his station, ignoring Trip’s presence behind him as the engineer checked something or other.

The end of the shift couldn’t have come any sooner. Alpha shift had been quite uneventful and except for a minor asteroid field, there had been nothing of interest.  Archer had decided to head for an uninhabited system with some interesting, solar phenomena, and they wouldn’t reach it until tomorrow. Trip had disappeared in the engine room somewhere throughout the second half of the shift, leaving his ‘styled’ lover alone.  
Turning his station over to his relief, Malcolm made his way to the turbo lift. He badly needed to get his hand on a brush and remove the stiff, spiky looks. Hair gel! Leave it to Trip to embarrass him in front of everyone – and call it ‘style’.  
“Lieutenant?”  
At Archer’s soft call, Malcolm stopped, turning to meet his captain’s gaze head on. “Sir?”  
“Nice hair,” was the amused comment and Reed didn’t like the glitter in those green eyes.  
“Sir.”  
“Very… different.”  
“Sir,” was all he said once again.  
Archer grinned.  
Malcolm just nodded stiffly and walked into the lift, almost sagging in relief when the doors closed.  
Damn that Yankee all the way to Hades! Trip better have a good apology ready! Groveling wouldn’t work at all!  
Then again, Tucker never groveled and his apologies… Malcolm knew he’d be lucky to get a half-serious ‘Ah’m sorry’ drawled at him.  
Passing by the crewman in the corridors, Reed was hard pressed not glare at each and every one giving him strange looks. Some of the women smiled appreciatively, even one of two of the mal crew, but at least no one commented outright. He was sure by the end of the day, everyone would know.  
His own shift on the bridge might be over, but he still had work to do, so he walked into the armory. Malcolm heard his stomach protest at the notion of more work. He hadn’t had lunch yet, but the prospect of spending time in the crowded mess, everyone staring at his hair, was less than appealing. And he didn’t have the time to spare to go by his quarters and brush out the gel. Or even think about washing his hair.  
Entering the Armory, he was greeted by two of his team, both giving him a brief once over. Ensign D’Argenziano smiled outright.  
“Nice hair, Lieutenant,” she commented.  
“Ensign,” was all he replied, not sure what to say.  
“Quite a change.”  
“Yes. Indeed. It is.”  
And I’ll skin that Yank alive! He’ll regret ever laying hand on me. Well, not on me. My hair. Mostly my hair. He can put his hands everywhere else.  
Malcolm derailed that close-to-runaway thought and turned to the station. Checking on the logs of the past shift, he immersed himself in maintenance protocols and updates.  
It was safe.  
It was routine.  
It kept him from thinking about his hair.  
And it kept him from the mess hall.  
By the time his stomach viciously reminded him that food was next on the list or it would give him a piece of its mind, Malcolm had spent four hours in his little kingdom of weaponry and armament.  
Okay. Food. No sweat. He could do this. Just stroll into the mess, get a plate, sit down – ignore everyone.  
Good plan.  
Really good plan.  
It just lacked some finesse in its execution.  
While the mess hall was not very crowded, it had some curious spectators hanging around. Most just gave him a cursory glance, followed by a more pronounced stare, but two others didn’t.  
“Hey, Lieutenant!” Travis called and smiled cheerfully.  
Mayweather sat next to Hoshi, both of them having plates of pie or cake in front of them. It was past normal lunch hour, which didn’t stop Chef from having warm meals available for those with the odd shifts. Or cases like Malcolm Reed, who simply forgot when lunch hours were supposed to be.  
Malcolm sighed and resigned himself to his fate. He took his pasta and salad and sat down with the two senior staff ensigns.  
“You are the main topic on all decks,” Travis told the older man, grinning.  
“Oh wonderful.”  
“Don’t listen to him, Lieutenant,” Hoshi added, smiling. “It’s a great look and something new. They’ll get used to it in no time.”  
“I’m not getting used to it,” Malcolm grumbled. “And this is the first and last time my hair looks like this!”  
Travis gave him a critical look. “It’s not bad at all, Malcolm. I’d keep it.”  
Reed shot him a dark look, then pointedly regarded the very short hairstyle of the other man. Mayweather chuckled and took a sip from his mug.  
“Let me guess, it was Trip’s idea?” Hoshi ventured forth.  
“I was attacked in my quarters just before my shift,” Malcolm grumbled. “With a tube of gel.”  
Travis made a little choking sound and quickly lowered his mug, coughing.  
“Oh, gimme details!” Hoshi sang, grinning like mad.  
Another dark look was shot at the two ensigns. “Hair gel. We’re talking about hair gel. Get your minds out of the gutter!”  
“I like the gutter. Very comfy.”  
Malcolm ignored the communications expert and instead attacked his salad.  
“Seriously, Malcolm, you look good. Nothing too experimental, or extravagant,” Hoshi finally said with conviction. “Trip gets extra points for creativity.”  
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows and received an innocent smile in return.  
By the time he was done with his late lunch, which now could also count as an early dinner, Liz Cutler had joined the three officers, shooting appreciative looks at Malcolm. He steadfastedly ignored it. Like he ignored the increasing amount of people coming off their shifts and looking for a snack or dinner.

Finally entering his quarters, Malcolm stripped off his uniform and was just about to walk into the bathroom to hunt for the hairbrush, when the door to his quarters slid open. Only one person had the private access code and that person now stood in the room, smiling.  
“Hey, hon!” Trip called cheerfully.  
Malcolm growled. On top of messing up his hair, Tucker also had the nerve to call him ‘hon’? The man really was suicidal today! But killing him now would be letting this man off too easy! He would bide his time, watch and wait. Then attack. Tucker would never know what hit him!  
 “Oh, wow, handsome!” the blond added, grinning widely, giving his lover a sensuous once-over.  
Malcolm just glowered, ignoring the sparks in the blue depth, and walked to the bathroom to get the hairbrush. A pair of strong hands and arms stopped him, pulling him flush against the still fully clothed chief engineer.  
“You look real sexy in just your underwear an’ that cool hair style.” His mouth was close to Malcolm's ear, his words sending puffs of warm air across his neck.  
“It’s not cool, it’s a mess!” Malcolm contradicted, but he didn’t make an attempt to get out of the embrace.  
“I like it.”  
“I don’t!”  
“Well, I don’t like that crew cut.”  
“It’s not a crew cut! It’s not even close to one.”  
Trip nuzzled one temple. “’Tis to me.”  
“Any longer and it would be hanging past my collar!”  
Tucker laughed. “It wasn’t even close to it. It was just the right length.”  
Malcolm sighed and shook his head. He turned in the loving embrace and looked into the cheerful, blue eyes.  
“I’m not making a habit out of this look,” he announced.  
“Not askin’ you. Was just nice t’see you like that.”  
“First and last time,” the armory officer vowed.  
“Oh really?”  
“Yes, really.”  
“I see.”  
Trip lightly pressed his lips to Malcolm’s, tongue teasing along them. Reed reacted automatically, opening up, inviting Trip inside. Tucker gently plunged in, exploring the moist warmth at leisure. A satisfied sound came from the dark-haired man and Trip grew bolder, deepening the kiss, hands starting to explore the mostly undressed body. Tongues parried and thrust, then gentled and tasted and suckled one another.  
Somehow his black shirt went flying, then the undershirt. Malcolm found himself pressed against the wall, a hungry engineer devouring him. He reciprocated, lowering the zipper and peeling the annoying uniform off the taller man. They ended up on the gray couch, both uncaring of anything else happening around them. Hand sought out familiar, erogenous zones and Malcolm gave a gasp of surprise and pleasure as Trip unerringly dove for his prize. Teeth tugged at his ear lobe and there was a rising need building inside him.  
“Trip…” he breathed. “Please…”  
“Am I forgiven?” came the husky question.  
Malcolm met the heated, blue gaze. “Not yet,” he murmured roughly.  
“Oh?”  
Hands stimulated his aching arousal even more and he arched off into the hot touch.  
“No,” he managed.  
Trip kissed a blazing trail down his chest and suddenly a moist warmth enveloped his hardness. Malcolm gasped, clawing at the couch.  
“Yes!” he hissed.  
Trip looked up, meeting the gray eyes, smiling devilishly. “And now?”  
“Getting there.”  
“Ah, you’re not easy to satisfy.”  
Small licks were applied and Malcolm moaned unconsciously. “You should know me by now,” the dark-haired man whispered.  
Another lick, all the way from root to tip. “Oh yeah. I do. I know how to make you feel good. Real good.”  
With that Trip reached for the tube with gel again, but this time the lube, not the hair product. Malcolm’s eyes clouded with desire and he rolled onto his side, cushioning himself on the couch. Preparation was done as lovingly as the prior one. By the time Trip slowly slid inside, he was ready to forgive his lover all sins ever committed.  
Climax came in a rush, leaving him limp and gasping, Trip sliding out with a low groan. Both men lay together on the soiled couch, avoiding the stained areas, kissing each other lovingly, hands soothing heated skin.  
“Forgiven?” Trip asked.  
“Forgiven,” Malcolm replied softly, nipping at his lover’s lower lip. “For now.”  
That got him a grin. “Love ya, too.”  
Malcolm chuckled. “If you really do, you get up, ready the bed and clean the couch.”  
“I love ya enough t’do the bed part, but you can clean up your own mess, Mal.”  
“How very… romantic.”  
“That’s me.”  
Malcolm smacked him lightly on the arm as Trip got up and walked into the bathroom. He cleaned himself up and brought a washcloth along as he exited. He threw the damp cloth at his lover, then grinned and went to the bed, pulling back the covers. Malcolm sighed and washed away the stains, then threw the cloth to the floor. He wasn’t in any shape to be neat right now; didn’t care either. Crawling in with Trip was all he wanted.  
And that was what he did.  
Cuddling close to his naked lover, he sighed with pleasure as a hand stroked his still rather spiky hair.  
He’d brush it out tomorrow.  
And fight off a certain engineer if he even came close to him with a tube of hair gel.  
“So, you gonna let it grow again?” a soft, almost petulant voice could be heard.  
Malcolm chuckled. “Yes, Trip. I will let my hair grow again. You know, it is a natural phenomenon…. Growing hair.”  
“Idiot.”  
“But you love me anyway.”  
“Short hair, no hair… yep, no way around it.”  
“No hair?” Reed echoed.  
“Well, when we’re old’n gray, y’know.”  
“I’ll have you know that my family doesn’t tend toward baldness.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes. You’ll be balding all on your lonesome.”  
“You saw my Dad already, Mal. No hair missin’.”  
“If you say so.”  
“Damn right, I do.”  
Hands caressed his skin and Malcolm leaned into the touch. He felt wonderfully warm and relaxed, almost becoming one with the mattress. One of those hands brushed over his short strands.  
“Night,” came a soft murmur.  
“Good night, Trip.”  
The fingers tangled in the messy hair and a gentle kiss was bestowed on his lips.


End file.
